


Hurricane Drunk

by coffeefrog



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Department of Backstory, F/M, M/M, unrequited love is a bitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 08:39:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7260448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeefrog/pseuds/coffeefrog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon shouldn't love the Russian giant who nearly stopped a car with his bare hands. Unfortunately for him, he does. Unrequited love is a bitch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hurricane Drunk

**Author's Note:**

> This originally started out as something short to go with the posting of the song, but it got away from me.

_I hope that you see me_  
_Cause I'm staring at you_  
_But when you look over_  
_You look right through_  
_Then you lean and kiss her on the head_  
_And I never felt so alive, and so... dead._

\-----------------------

Napoleon’s fingers gripped the glass in his hand tighter, tight enough that he was afraid he was going to shatter the glass between them. The sight shouldn’t surprise him. Peril and the little chop shop girl had been dancing toward this moment since Italy all those months ago. There had been distractions, brushes with death and very narrow escapes. Napoleon had known that nothing would come of his infatuation with the giant of a Russian, no matter how much he flirted and teased and arched his brows at him. Men like Illya Kuryakin were not interested flashy American men who wear bravado like an expensive Savile Row suit.

There were few people who knew the extent of his crimes and secrets. Oh, it was a matter of record that he had been found with stolen works of art, but that wasn’t the complete story. The CIA had been watching him for much longer and had discovered more secrets. The fact that he enjoyed the company of men as much as women. 

In a way, Illya had been correct. Part of it was humiliation. But, his choices were very slim. If he did his work well, it would allow him at least a little bit of freedom. Or a semblance of it. He did work on the side, of course, it kept him in the life he enjoyed. But when the leash was tugged, he came crawling back like a dog. 

The rest? Well, his handlers had informed him that if he went to prison, everyone would know exactly what he was in for. Men like him, they assured him, rarely fared well.

So, now, here he was working with another organization and drawn to a Russian with anger issues. Ah, but it turned into something of a Shakespearean comedy. He just wasn’t sure what his role was in all this.

Napoleon downed the last of his scotch and laid a few bills (more than he knew the drink was worth) down on the table and pushed to his feet. He turned his back before the pair could be seen and he blended into the crowd. The hotel they were staying in was the opposite direction, toward the couple wrapped up in each other. He would lose himself for a few hours in the winding streets of Paris, looking for a bit of company to distract him. Later, he’d return to the hotel and fall into the expensive sheets. They would ask him questions in the morning. He’ll answer them with a smirk and an arch of a brow and allow them to draw their own conclusions. Correct conclusions, but he cared little about their opinions of him. He had lived on his own long enough that he didn’t need a tiny mother hen clucking at him.

Soon, he knew this experiment would be over and he would be back to working with the CIA, his leash once again in the hands of a very small man. Part of him welcomed it. He would bide his time, finish his sentence and then disappear where no one would ever be able to find him.


End file.
